


we'll go slow (and high tempo)

by figure8



Category: EXO (Band), K-pop
Genre: Anal Sex, Birthday Sex, Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, i was possessed, it's so fucking fluffy i don't know what happened i don't know who wrote this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 17:17:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17390438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/figure8/pseuds/figure8
Summary: "I'm your present," Sehun had giggled.





	we'll go slow (and high tempo)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [earthshaker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthshaker/gifts).



> happy birthday, kyungsoo! hope it was at LEAST as nice as the imaginary one i made up in my mind for you lmao 
> 
> title from pillowtalk by zayn

**_Nobody but you, 'body but me_ **   
**_'Body but us, bodies together_ **   
**_I love to hold you close, tonight and always_ **   
**_I love to wake up next to you_ **

 

 _I’m your present,_ Sehun had giggled. _I’m your present, hyung,_ cheeks red from the cold and from laughing too hard and from that last glass of Champagne, too. There had been a yellow party hat that Kyungsoo had worn even though he hates how the elastic digs into his chin, and cake, and hugs, and even a selfie that Sehun had promptly posted on Instagram. A slow, mellow evening. _I’m your present._

And now, in the semi-darkness of Sehun’s room, he says it again, but his tone is less teasing, less childish, more _wanting._ An invitation, although most of what Sehun says when he has Kyungsoo alone in this room is an invitation. Lips kiss-swollen, gaze heavy, body splayed and pliant and offered. No bow to untie, but Kyungsoo _did_ get to unwrap his gift earlier, peeling Sehun out of his clothes so, so slowly. Appreciating. Taking the sight in. Sehun is impatient, always, always hasty, always _demanding,_ but today is Kyungsoo’s birthday, so he made an effort, stood still. Couldn’t keep from shivering as the elder ran warm hands over the hard plane of his chest, but stood still.

“You’re beautiful,” Kyungsoo tells him, breath fanning over his collarbones, before placing a soft, succulent kiss to the hollow of his throat. And Sehun whines, says it’s not about him, _hyung, tell me what you want, tell me how you want me._ Kyungsoo ignores him, but Sehun insists, _I’m your present. You can do anything you want to me._

The thing is, Sehun’s room smells like the vanilla-scented candle he lit earlier. The thing is, Kyungsoo can reach blindly for the lube in the second drawer, force of habit; but he can also find socks and paper tissues and towels and pens with the same ease, and that means something. Sehun in his fluffy oversized sweater, goofy grin eating half his face, whispering sweet nonsense in Kyungsoo’s ear, draped over Kyungsoo’s back—it doesn’t sound like the ideal birthday, really, and yet. And yet.

But Kyungsoo doesn’t know how to put words on all this, on the tiny storm that has taken root in his abdomen for months now, and swirls faster and faster every time he glances at Sehun. Kyungsoo is good at _acting,_ performing other people’s words. His own are lacking. It’s easier with his body. It’s easier with his hands.

“This is what I want,” he whispers. “You just like this, so very good for me.”

Sehun makes a happy sound, and then a choked sound, when Kyungsoo’s lubed finger circles his rim.

“I showered,” he tells Kyungsoo, and he already sounds a little out of breath. Kyungsoo hums absently, attention mostly drawn to Sehun’s hardening cock, because, well. Well. “Right before we went out,” he continues, “Really well.”

The words register, and Kyungsoo smiles, tender. Sehun is brazen and shameless about many, many things—but about this, for some reason, he is always shy.

And this, _this_ is the real gift. How Sehun doesn’t squirm, doesn’t grab, doesn’t press. Lets Kyungsoo take his sweet, sweet time. Lets Kyungsoo thrust one, two, three fingers inside, pace leisurely, torturous. Lets Kyungsoo urge his legs over his shoulders, mouth at the inside of Sehun’s tense thigh. Bite, gently. And then move up, replace his fingers with his mouth, his tongue. He holds Sehun open with his thumbs, licks inside, moans against his hole like Sehun’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. Sehun’s head collapses back against the nice satin sheets, throat stuck on a silent scream as Kyungsoo curls his tongue, and _this,_ this is the gift. Every choked, needy gasp. The way Sehun’s legs tremble, his voice breaking on Kyungsoo’s name, every _please,_ every _don’t stop._ Fingers and mouth working in tandem, Kyungsoo coaxes more and more sounds out of Sehun’s lips, drunk on the feeling. _I did this, I made him feel this good._ Sehun’s hand scrapes over his scalp, to press him close, closer, to get _more._ And Kyungsoo wants to give him everything, but soon enough Sehun is shaking, pushing him away this time, panting, “Kyungsoo, stop, I’m gonna—I don’t want to come like this.”

“How do you want to come, baby?” Kyungsoo asks, teases, smile audible even to his own ears, as he plants one last kiss to Sehun’s hipbone. It’s his birthday, after all. This is what he wants.

“With you,” Sehun says, reaching for him, “With you inside me.” Kyungsoo kisses his nose, his cheek, chuckles when Sehun tries to kiss him on the mouth but misses. He goes for the box of condoms on the nightstand but Sehun stops him. “You can fuck me without, if you want,” he says, tone suddenly very serious. Something settles heavy at the pit of Kyungsoo’s stomach.

“You said you didn’t like that,” he says softly, smoothing his hand over Sehun’s bicep.

“I don’t—,” Sehun frowns, “I don’t _mind,_ and it’s your birthday. I wanted this to be—special, I don’t know, _different.”_

“It’s always special, baby.”

Sehun rolls his eyes. “Don’t be corny.”

“I mean it. You don’t have to do stuff you don’t like, not with me, not for me.”

“Okay,” Sehun says after a beat of silence, looking a little bit self-conscious. Kyungsoo leans in to kiss the frown away. “You choose, then.”

“One day,” he says, tearing the foil packet open, “If you really want to try, I’m going to come inside you, and then lick you clean.” Sehun _shudders._ Hand on Sehun’s knee, Kyungsoo settles between his legs, smiling. “You’d want that?”

“Yeah,” Sehun rasps. “Yeah, fuck, why not.”

And as he slides in, easy and smooth because he took his time, licked his boy open, fingered him loose, Kyungsoo thinks, _this,_ this is the best way to start another year of existence, really, _really._ This truly is the best present, this truly is all he’s ever wanted.

“I’m so lucky to have you,” he gasps, and he sounds so _raw_ it surprises him. Sehun groans.

“You’re being sappy again.”

“It’s my _birthday,”_ Kyungsoo grins, and Sehun looks like he wants to retort, but Kyungsoo punctuates his reply with a sharp roll of his hips, and the words die in Sehun’s throat. “It’s my birthday,” he repeats when Sehun sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, trying to rein the sounds in. “I want to hear you, I get to hear you.”

And he wants this image seared into his brain, tattooed at the back of his eyelids. Sehun’s body jolting with every hard thrust, head thrown back, pale throat bared, a symphony of moans trickling from his parted lips. Sehun clutching at the sheets desperately, wanton and beautiful, and _Kyungsoo’s._

“Hyung—,” a fractured, helpless sob, “fuck me, fuck me _harder—,”_ and Kyungsoo tries, gives it his all, tilting Sehun’s hips up to change the angle, his grip so tight he knows there will be bruises tomorrow. His mark, the shape of his hand on Sehun’s milk-fair skin, the thought makes him _dizzy_ in ways he does not want to examine. Sehun’s cock is leaking against his stomach, and he’s whining in that soft, needy way he always does when he’s close, so Kyungsoo leans in, the motion almost folding Sehun in two, and asks, “Can you come like this, baby? Just from my cock?”

“Please,” is all Sehun can answer, “Please please _please—”_

Palm pressed to the mattress for purchase, Kyungsoo snaps his hips, pounds into him fast and erratic, lost in how warm slick tight _good_ it feels, chasing his own pleasure and Sehun’s simultaneously. _Love you like this,_ he thinks—blurts out. _Just like this, Sehun, baby, just like this._

They come almost at the same time. Sehun first, with a shout, tightening around Kyungsoo in the process, tipping him over the edge. It’s a blur, really, of sounds and swears and a failed kiss and white dots dancing on the corners of Kyungsoo’s vision. For a glorious, glorious instant, all he knows, all he feels is Sehun.

He comes down from his high with his head pillowed on Sehun’s sternum, Sehun gently petting his hair. Sehun grunts when he pulls out, tries to grab him when he gets up to throw the condom and get something to clean Sehun up.

“I’m coming back, you big baby,” Kyungsoo chuckles.

“I got you a real present, too,” Sehun tells him when he returns with a washcloth. “The bag is in that yellow Ikea box, you know, in the closet.”

“You’re a real present,” Kyungsoo says. Sehun punches him in the shoulder.

“Stop saying shit like that!” he whines, sounding genuinely distressed. His face is turning pink. Kyungsoo bends down to kiss the tip of his nose. “Hyung, stooop.”

And really, it’s as if he’s asking for it. Kyungsoo knows exactly where he’s ticklish, where to touch to make him _cry_ with laughter. Sehun almost kicks him off the bed twice in retaliation, but it’s worth it. They’re both out of breath when Kyungsoo gives up, chests heaving, staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t think he can get up to fetch his gift, and Sehun _certainly_ isn’t getting up before the morning, that’s one thing Kyungsoo knows. It’s okay. It can wait.

“I love you,” Sehun says, quietly. They’re not looking at each other. “You know that, right? I love you.”

“I know that,” Kyungsoo says. Finds Sehun’s hand, links their fingers together. He’s so bad with words, when it matters. “Me—me too.” He takes a deep breath, and then, “I wasn’t joking. I really do feel lucky. It’s really—I know you were kidding. But having you. It does feel like a gift.”

The mattress dips, and for a second Kyungsoo thinks Sehun is rolling away in embarrassment, but no. He rolls _towards_ Kyungsoo, buries his nose in the crook of Kyungsoo’s neck.

“Happy birthday, hyung,” he mumbles there, breath hot. “There’s still seven minutes left.”

Kyungsoo closes his eyes. It is, he thinks to himself. Happy, _happy_ birthday indeed.


End file.
